Dvorak Music Analysis Essay

Dvorak’s New World Symphony: as legend has it, the sound of a music that heralded a new dawn for American music, the product of the then-New-York-based composer’s own statement “in the Negro melodies of America I discover all that is needed for a great and noble school of music”.

This E Minor Symphony was the first that Dvořák completed in his two-and-a-half year stay in the US. He was brought over by a wealthy patron of the arts to set up a music conservatory, the forerunner of today’s Juilliard School. And the fact that Dvořák was influenced by the spirituals and songs that he heard from one of his most important pupils, Harry T. Burleigh, is not in doubt. But apart from a strong allusion to Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in the second main melody of the first movement (compare them yourself!), it’s astonishing that Dvořák’s own clear statement to the New York Herald at the time of the symphony’s premiere – at Carnegie Hall with the New York Philharmonic on 16 December 1893 – was not properly attended to. “It is merely the spirit of Negro and Indian melodies which I have tried to reproduce in my new symphony. I have not actually used any of the melodies”. Later, in 1900, he said in a letter: “leave out that nonsense about my using Indian and American motifs – it is a lie!” and again, “It was my intention only to write in the spirit of these national American melodies”. That “lie” went so far as imagining that the soulful cor anglais melody in the slow movement (which may have associations of different kind of folk spirit for anyone of my vintage, of a kid on a bicycle struggling up a cobbled street with batch of wholemeal loaves in a prelapsarian vision of the country-bumpkin-far-west – that Hovis ad, basically!) was itself an authentic “American melody”: in fact, the words of “Goin’ Home” were added to the tune years later by another of Dvořák’s pupils.

So how many of these American melodies had he actually heard? As this account at antonin-dvorak.cz shows, Dvořák’s only possible encounters with Indian as opposed to “Negro” melodies up to the time he wrote the E minor symphony would actually have come in Prague in 1879, when a group of Iroquois Indians came to display their dancing, songs, and equestrian war-tricks to the Czechs, and it’s likely Dvořák saw notated examples of the tunes they sang made by a friend of his. Otherwise, he could perhaps have seen Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show in New York – but that’s all. The symphony is also often heard as a pre-Copland evocation of America’s wide-open spaces, but Dvořák only made his first trip away from the metropolis to the vastnesses of the America’s inland after he had completed the piece (although he did add the title, “From the New World”, when the symphony was being copied out while he was on holiday in Spillville, Iowa, with its large community of Czech immigrants, where he wrote the “American” string quartet and his E flat major String Quintet).

So does that mean that all of those supposedly direct connections between Dvořák’s symphony and American identity are mostly fiction, the result of critics and audiences hearing what they want to hear in a new piece of music, rather than what it actually is? In a sense, yes, but there is a deeper connection between the tunes of the piece and a broader community of folk melodies, tunes that come from Celtic, European, as well as indigenous American forms. In imbibing “the spirit” of the spirituals and melodies that he really did hear, from Harry T. Burleigh and others, Dvořák created tunes that are capable of resonating with any folk traditions that use the pentatonic (five-note) scale, or which employ the flat seventh as opposed to the leading note of the scale, as most jazz scales do; technical reasons why the New World Symphony can legitimately be heard as an evocation of some kind of musical otherness, of voices and “spirits” from outside the conventions of the late 19th century European symphony.

And yet that’s exactly what this piece is. It is a late-romantic European symphony, just one that happened to be composed in, and influenced by, Dvořák’s experience in the US. Some critics realised that at the time: the composer Victor Herbert, asked if he thought the piece would catalyse a new American school of composition, replied, “Yes, if the composers are Dr. Dvořák”. Not exactly a thriving future for “American” music, then.

With its community of themes that appear throughout the symphony (in one brilliant place in the finale, Dvořák seamlessly combines tunes from the slow movement, the scherzo third movement, and the finale), Dvořák extends principles that he knew from Beethoven, Brahms, and Schumann. But as well as the traditional ways of hearing Dvořák’s 9th – either as an American evocation or a late-romantic triumph of thematic cycles and integration – there are others, too. The music plays with memory, both in the way that melodies from the first movement, say, return in every successive movement, but also with a larger idea of reminiscence, nostalgia, and something darker. That slow movement (which starts with those surreal, sublime brass chords, music that returns with visionary power, in a completely different, dramatic context near the end of the finale) isn’t as simple as an unforgettable tune and a series of contrasting rustic episodes. For me, that music sounds more and more like a lament, a keening.

If Dvořák really was remembering Harry T. Burleigh’s voice (and you can hear him here!) – the cor anglais was a closer musical analogue for the human voice than the clarinet that Dvořák originally planned to play the tune – then the music is a token of the spirituals he heard him sing, with their own reflections of hope achieved through terrible adversity; it also could be a tribute to Dvořák’s far-away homeland, or even to the lands of the American Indians that Dvořák knew were taken from them. Today, precisely because of its redolent, immediate power, I think that melody is an emblem of a lost pastoral innocence that becomes and ever-more impossible dream. I feel the same ambivalence at the very end of the symphony, when the music wrenches itself from an epically slowed-down minor-key version of the main tune of the finale to a blaze of major-key glory: somehow it’s that abyss of darkness before the dawn that seems to haunt my memory after the symphony has finished.

Five key recordings

Karel Ancerl/Czech Philharmonic Orchestra: dynamic, vivid, earthy, lyrical, unpredictable.

Charles Mackerras/Prague Symphony Orchestra: a lifetime of experience in this repertoire shines through Mackerras’s live performance.

Claudio Abbado/Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra: Abbado and the Berlin Phil make the New World genuinely “new”, in simultaneous joyfulness and profundity.

Rafael Kubelik/Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra: sensational playing from an earlier generation of Berlin Phil players; sensational and unique imagination from Kubelik.

Marin Alsop/Baltimore Symphony Orchestra: one of the most insightful, intelligent, and impassioned of recent recordings.

•Roger Norrington conducts the Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra in Dvořák’s New World Symphony at the Proms on 3 September.

§01. It is a difficult task at best for a foreigner to give a correct verdict of the affairs of another country. With the United States of America this is more than usually difficult, because they cover such a vast area of land that it would take many years to become properly acquainted with the various localities, separated by great distances, that would have to be considered when rendering a judgment concerning them all. It would ill become me, therefore, to express my views on so general and all-embracing a subject as music in America, were I not pressed to do so, for I have neither travelled extensively, nor have I been here long enough to gain an intimate knowledge of American affairs. I can only judge of it from what I have observed during my limited experience as a musician and teacher in America, and from what those whom I know here tell about their own country. Many of my impressions therefore are those of a foreigner who has not been here long enough to overcome the feeling of strangeness and bewildered astonishment which must fill all European visitors upon their first arrival.

§02. The two American traits which must impress the foreign observer, I find, are the unbounded patriotism and capacity for enthusiasm of most Americans. Unlike the more diffident inhabitants of other countries, who do not "wear their hearts upon their sleeves," the citizens of America are always patriotic, and no occasion seems to be too serious or too slight for them to give expression to this feeling. Thus nothing better pleases the average American, especially the American youth, than to be able to say that this or that building, this or that new patent appliance, is the finest or the grandest in the world. This, of course, is due to that other trait--enthusiasm. The enthusiasm of most Americans for all things new is apparently without limit. It is the essence of what is called "push"-- American push. Every day I meet with this quality in my pupils. They are unwilling to stop at anything. In the matters relating to their art they are inquisitive to a degree that they want to go to the bottom of all things at once. It is as if a boy wished to dive before he could swim.

§03. At first, when my American pupils were new to me, this trait annoyed me, and I wished them to give more attention to the one matter in hand rather than to everything at once. But now I like it, for I have come to the conclusion that this youthful enthusiasm and eagerness to take up everything is the best promise for music in America. The same opinion, I remember, was expressed by the director of the conservatory in Berlin [probably Joseph Joachim, director of the Hochschule fur Musik], who, from his experience with American students of music, predicted that America within twenty or thirty years would become the first musical country.

§04. Only when the people in general, however, begin to take as lively an interest in music and art as they now take in more material matters will the arts come into their own. Let the enthusiasm of the people once be excited, and patriotic gifts and bequests must surely follow.

§05. It is a matter of surprise to me that all this has not come long ago. When I see how much is done in every other field by public-spirited men in America--how schools, universities, libraries, museums, hospitals, and parks spring up out of the ground and are maintained by generous gifts--I can only marvel that so little has been done for music. After two hundred years of almost unbroken prosperity and expansion, the net results for music are a number of public concert halls of most recent growth, several musical societies with orchestras of noted excellence, such as the Philharmonic Society in New York, the orchestras of Mr. Thomas and Mr. Seidl, and the superb orchestra supported by a public-spirited citizen of Boston; one opera company, which only the upper classes can hear or understand, and a national conservatory which owes its existence to the generous forethought of one indefatigable woman [Jeannette Thurber]. It is true that music is the youngest of the arts, and must therefore be expected to be treated as Cinderella, but is it not time that she were lifted from the ashes and given a seat among the equally youthful sister arts in this land of youth until the coming of the fairy godmother and the prince of the crystal slipper?

§06. Art, of course, must always go a-begging, but why should this country alone, which is so justly famed for the generosity and public spirit of its citizens, close its door to the poor beggar? In the Old World this is not so. Since the days of Palestrina . . . princes and prelates have vied with each other in extending a generous hand to music. Since the days of Pope Gregory the Church has made music one of her own chosen arts. In Germany and Austria, princes like Esterhazy, Lobkowitz, and Harrach, who supported Haydn and Beethoven, or the king of Bavaria, who did so much for Wagner, with many others, have helped create a demand for good music, which has since become universal, while in France all governments, be they monarchies, empires or republics, have done their best to carry on the noble work that was begun by Louis XIV. Even the little republic of Switzerland annually sets aside a budget for the furtherance of literature, music and the arts.

§07. A few months ago only we saw how such a question of art as whether the operas sung in Hungary's capital would be of a national or foreign character could provoke a ministerial crisis. Such is the interest in music and art taken by the governments and people of other countries.

§08. The great American republic alone, in its national government as well as in the several governments of the States, suffers art and music to go without encouragement. Trades and commerce are protected, funds are voted away for the unemployed, schools and colleges are endowed, but music must go unaided, and be content if she can get the support of a few private individuals like Mrs. Jeannette M. Thurber and Mr. H. L. Higginson.

§09. Not long ago a young man came to me and showed me his compositions. His talent seemed so promising that I at once offered him a scholarship in our school, but he sorrowfully confessed that he could not afford to become my pupil because he had to earn his living by keeping books in Brooklyn. Even if he came just two afternoons in the week, or on Saturday afternoon only, he said, he would lose his employment, on which he and others had to depend. I urged him to arrange the matter with his employer, but he only received the answer: "If you want to play, you can't keep books. You will have to drop one or the other." He dropped his music.

§10. In any other country, the State would have made some provision for such a deserving scholar, so that he could have pursued his natural calling without having to starve. With us in Bohemia, the Diet each year votes a special sum of money for just such purposes, and the imperial government in Vienna on occasion furnishes other funds for talented artists. Had it not been for such support I should not have been able to pursue my studies when I was a young man. Owing to the fact that, upon the kind recommendation of such men as Brahms, Hanslick and Herbeck, the Minister of Public Education in Vienna on five successive years sent me sums ranging from four to six hundred florins, I could pursue my work and get my compositions published, so that at the end of that time I was able to stand on my own feet. This has filled me with lasting gratitude towards my country.

§11. Such an attitude of the State towards deserving artists is not only kind but wise. For it cannot be emphasized too strongly that art, as such, does not "pay," to use an American expression--at least, not in the beginning--and that the art that has to pay its own way is apt to become vitiated and cheap.

§12. It is one of the anomalies of this country that the principle of protection is upheld for all enterprises but art. By protection I do not mean the exclusion of foreign art. That, of course, is absurd. But just as the State here provides for its poor, industrial scholars and university students, so should it help the would-be students of music and art. As it is now, the poor musician not only cannot get his necessary instruction in the first place, but if by any chance he has acquired it, he has small prospects of making his chosen calling support him in the end. Why is this? Simply because the orchestras in which first-class players could find a place in this country can be counted on one hand; while of opera companies where native singers can be heard, and where the English tongue is sung, there is none at all. Another thing which discourages the student of music is the unwillingness of publishers to take anything but light and trashy music. European publishers are bad enough in that respect, but the Ameriean publishers are worse. Thus, when one of my pupils last year produeed a very creditable work, and a thoroughly American composition at that, he could not get it published in America, but had to send it to Germany, where it was at once accepted. The same is true of my own compositions on American subjects, each of which has had to be published abroad.

§13. No wonder American composers and musicians grow discouraged, and regard the more promising conditions of music in other countries with envy! Such a state of affairs should be a source of mortification to all truly patriotic Americans. Yet it can be easily remedied. What was the situation in England but a short while ago? Then they had to procure all their players from abroad, while their own musicians were sent to the Continent to study. Now that they have two standard academies of music in London, like those of Berlin, Paris, and other cities, the national feeling for music seems to have been awakened, and the majority of orchestras are composed of native Englishmen, who play as well as the others did before. A single institution can make such a change, just as a single genius can bestow an art upon his country that before was lying in unheeded slumber.

§14. Our musical conservatory in Prague was founded but three generations ago, when a few nobles and patrons of music subscribed five thousand florins which was then the annual cost of maintaining the school. Yet that little school flourished and grew, so that now more than sixfold that amount is annually expended. Only lately a school for organ music has been added to the conservatory, so that the organists of our churches can learn to play their instruments at home, without having to go to other cities. Thus a school benefits the community in which it is. The citizens of Prague in return have shown their appreciation of the fact by building the "Rudolfinum" as a magnificent home for the arts. It is jointly occupied by the conservatory and the Academy of Arts and besides that contains large and small concert halls and rooms for picture-galleries. In the proper maintenance of this building the whole community takes an interest. It is supported, as it was founded, by the stockholders of the Bohemian Bank of Deposit, and yearly gifts and bequests are made to the institution by private citizens.

§15. If a school of art can grow so in a country of but six million inhabitants, what much brighter prospects should it not have in a land of seventy millions? The important thing is to make a beginning, and in this the State should set an example.

§16. They tell me that this cannot be done. I ask, why can't it be done? If the old commonwealths of Greece and Italy, and the modern republics of France and Switzerland, have been able to do this, why cannot America follow their example? The money certainly is not lacking. Constantly we see great sums of money spent for the material pleasures of the few, which, if devoted to the purposes of art, might give pleasure to thousands. If schools, art museums and libraries can be maintained at the public expense, why should not musical conservatories and playhouses? The function of the drama, with or without music, is not only to amuse, but to elevate and instruct while giving pleasure. Is it not in the interest of the State that this should be done in the most approved manner, so as to benefit all of the citizens? Let the owners of private playhouses give their performances for diversion only, let those who may, import singers who sing in foreign tongues, but let there be at least one intelligent power that will see to it that the people can hear and see what is best, and what can be understood by them, no matter how small the demand.

§17. That such a system of performing classic plays and operas pleases the people was shown by the attitude of the populace in Prague. There the people collected money and raised subscriptions for over fifty years to build a national playhouse.

§18. In 1880 they at last had a sufficient amount and the "National Theatre" was accordingly built. It had scarcely been built when it was burned to the ground. But the people were not to be discouraged. Everybody helped, and before a fortnight was over more than a million had been collected, and the house was at once built up again, more magnificent than it was before. In answer to such arguments I am told that there is no popular demand for good music in America. That is not so. Every concert in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago or Washington, and most other cities, no doubt, disproves such a statement. American concert halls are as well filled as those of Europe, and, as a rule, the listeners--to judge them by their attentive conduct and subsequent expression of pleasure--are not a whit less appreciative. How it would be with opera I cannot judge, since American opera audiences, as the opera is conducted at present, are in no sense representative of the people at large. I have no doubt, however, that if the Americans had a chance to hear grand opera sung in their own language they would enjoy it as well and appreciate it as highly as the opera-goers of Vienna, Paris, or Munich enjoy theirs. The change from Italian and French to English will scarcely have an injurious effect on the present good voices of the singers, while it may have the effect of improving the voices of American singer, bringing out more clearly the beauty and strength of the timbre, while giving an intelligent conception of the work that enables singers to use pure diction, which cannot be obtained in a foreign tongue. The American voice, so far as I can judge, is a good one. When I first arrived in this country, I was startled by the strength and the depth of the voices in the boys who sell papers on the street, and I am still constantly amazed at its penetrating quality. In a sense, of course, it is true that there is less of a demand for music in America than in certain other countries. Our common folk in Bohemia know this. When they come here, they leave their fiddles and other instruments at home, and none of the itinerant musicians with whom our country abounds would ever think of trying their luck over here. Occasionally, when I have met one of my countrymen whom I knew to be musical in this city of New York or in the West, and have asked him why he did not become a professional musician, I have usually received the answer, "Oh, music is not wanted in this land." This I can scarcely believe. Music is wanted wherever good people are, as the German poet has sung. It only rests with the leaders of the people to make a right beginning.

§19. When this beginning is made, and when those who have musical talent find it worth their while to stay in America and to study and exercise their art as the business of their life, the music of America will soon become more national in its character. This my conviction, I know, is not shared by many who can justly claim to know this country better than I do. Because the population of the United States is composed of many different races, in which the Teutonic [German] element predominates, and because, owing to the improved method of transmission of the present day, the music of all the world is quickly absorbed in this country, they argue that nothing specially original or national can come forth. According to that view, all other countries which are but the results of a conglomeration of peoples and races, as, for instance, Italy, could not have produced a national literature or a national music.

§20. A while ago I suggested that inspiration for truly national music might be derived from the Negro melodies or Indian chants. I was led to take this view partly by the fact that the so-called plantation songs are indeed the most striking and appealing melodies that have yet been found on this side of the water, but largely by the observation that this seems to be recognized, though often unconsciously, by most Americans. All races have their distinctively national songs, which they at once recognize as their own, even if they have never heard them before. When a Tcech [sic], a Pole, or a Magyar in this country suddenly hears one of his folk-songs or dances, no matter if it is for the first time in his life, his eyes light up at once, and his heart within him responds, and claims that music as his own. So it is with those of Teutonic or Celtic blood, or any other men, indeed, whose first lullaby mayhap [perhaps] was a song wrung from the heart of the people.

§21. It is a proper question to ask, what songs, then, belong to the American and appeal more strongly to him than any others? What melody could stop him on the street if he were in a strange land and make the home feeling well up within him, no matter how hardened he might be or how wretchedly the tune were played? Their number, to be sure, seems to be limited. The most potent as well as the most beautiful among them, according to my estimation, are certain of the so-called plantation melodies and slave songs, all of which are distinguished by unusual and subtle harmonies, the like of which I have found in no other songs but those of old Scotland and Ireland. The point has been urged that many of these touching songs, like those of Foster, have not been composed by the Negroes themselves, but are the work of white men, while others did not originate on the plantations, but were imported from Africa. It seems to me that this matters but little. One might as well condemn the Hungarian Rhapsody because Liszt could not speak Hungarian. The important thing is that the inspiration for such music should come from the right source, and that the music itself should be a true expression of the people's real feelings. To read the right meaning the composer need not necessarily be of the same blood, though that, of course, makes it easier for him. Schubert was a thorough German, but when he wrote Hungarian music, as in the second movement of the C-Major Symphony, or in some of his piano pieces, like the Hungarian Divertissement, he struck the true Magyar note, to which all Magyar hearts, and with them our own, must forever respond. This is not a tour de force, but only an instance of how music can be comprehended by a sympathetic genius. The white composers who wrote the touching Negro songs which dimmed Thackeray's spectacles so that he exclaimed, "Behold, a vagabond with a corked face and banjo sings a little song, strikes a wild note, which sets the whole heart thrilling with happy pity!" had a similarly sympathetic comprehension of the deep pathos of slave life. If, as I have been informed they were, these songs were adopted by the Negroes on the plantations, they thus became true Negro songs. Whether the original songs which must have inspired the composers came from Africa or originated on the plantations matters as little as whether Shakespeare invented his own plots or borrowed them from others. The thing to rejoice over is that such lovely songs exist and are sung at the present day. I, for one, am delighted by them. Just so it matters little whether the inspiration for the coming folk songs of America is derived from the Negro melodies, the songs of the creoles, the red man's chant, or the plaintive ditties of the homesick German or Norwegian. Undoubtedly the germs for the best in music lie hidden among all the races that are commingled in this great country. The music of the people is like a rare and lovely flower growing amidst encroaching weeds. Thousands pass it, while others trample it under foot, and thus the chances are that it will perish before it is seen by the one discriminating spirit who will prize it above all else. The fact that no one has as yet arisen to make the most of it does not prove that nothing is there.

§22. Not so many years ago Slavic music was not known to the men of other races. A few men like Chopin, Glinka, Moniuszko, Smetana, Rubinstein, and Tchaikovsky, with a few others, were able to create a Slavic school of music. Chopin alone caused the music of Poland to be known and prized by all lovers of music. Smetana did the same for us Bohemians. Such national music, I repeat, is not created out of nothing. It is discovered and clothed in new beauty, just as the myths and the legends of a people are brought to light and crystallized in undying verse by the master poets. All that is needed is a delicate ear, a retentive memory, and the power to weld the fragments of former ages together in one harmonious whole. Only the other day I read in a newspaper that Brahms himself admitted that he had taken existing folk-songs for the themes of his new book of songs, and had arranged them for piano music. I have not heard nor seen the songs, and do not know if this be so; but if it were, it would in no wise reflect discredit upon the composer. Liszt in his rhapsodies and Berlioz in his Faust did the same thing with existing Hungarian strains, as for instance the Racokzy March; and Schumann and Wagner made a similar use of the Marseillaise for their songs of the "Two Grenadiers." Thus, also, Balfe, the Irishman, used one of our most national airs, a Hussite song, in his opera, Bohemian Girl, though how he came by it nobody has as yet explained. So the music of the people, sooner or later, will command attention and creep into the books of composers.

§23. An American reporter once told me that the most valuable talent a journalist could possess was a "nose for news." Just so the musician must prick his ear for music. Nothing must be too low or too insignificant for the musician. When he walks he should listen to every whistling boy, every street singer or blind organ-grinder. I myself am often so fascinated by these people that I can scarcely tear myself away, for every now and then I catch a strain or hear the fragments of a recurring melodic theme that sound like the voice of the people. These things are worth preserving, and no one should be above making a lavish use of all such suggestions. It is a sign of barrenness, indeed, when such characteristic bits of music exist and are not heeded by the learned musicians of the age.

§24. I know that it is still an open question whether the inspiration derived from a few scattered melodies and folk songs can be sufficient to give a national character to higher forms of music, just as it is an open question whether national music, as such, is preferable. I myself, as I have always declared, believe firmly that the music that is most characteristic of the nation whence it springs is entitled to the highest consideration. The part of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony that appeals most strongly to all is the melody of the last movement, and that is also the most German. Weber's best opera according to the popular estimate, is Der Freischutz. Why? Because it is the most German. His inspiration there clearly came from the thoroughly German sounds and situations of the story, and hence his music assumed that distinctly national character which has endeared it to the German nation as a whole. Yet he himself spent far more pains on his opera Euryanthe, and persisted to the end in regarding it as his best work. But the people, we see, claim their own; and after all, it is for the people that we strive.

§25. An interesting essay could be written on the subject how much the external frame-work of an opera--that is, the words, the characters of the personages and the general mise en scene--contributes towards the inspiration of the composer. If Weber was inspired to produce his masterpiece by so congenial a theme as the story of Der Freischutz, Rossini was undoubtedly similarly inspired by the Swiss surroundings of William Tell. Thus one might almost suspect that some of the charming melodies of that opera are more the product and property of Switzerland than of the Italian composer. It is to be noticed that all of Wagner's operas, with the exception of his earliest work, Rienzi, are inspired by German subjects. The most German of them all is that of Die Meistersinger, that opera of operas, which should be an example to all who distrust the potency of their own national topics.

§26. Of course, as I have indicated before, it is possible for certain composers to project their spirit into that of another race and country. Verdi partially succeeded in striking Oriental chords in his Aida, while Bizet was able to produce so thoroughly Spanish strains and measures as those of Carmen. Thus inspiration can be drawn from the depths as well as from the heights, although that is not my conception of the true mission of music. Our mission should be to give pure pleasure, and to uphold the ideals of our race. Our mission as teachers is to show the right way to those who come after us.

§27. My own duty as a teacher, I conceive, is not so much to interpret Beethoven, Wagner, or other masters of the past, but to give what encouragement I can to the young musicians of America. I must give full expression to my firm conviction, and to the hope that just as this nation has already surpassed so many others in marvellous inventions and feats of engineering and commerce, and has made an honourable place for itself in literature in one short century, so it must assert itself in the other arts, and especially in the art of music. Already there are enough public-spirited lovers of music striving for the advancement of this their chosen art to give rise to the hope that the United States of America will soon emulate the older countries in smoothing the thorny path of the artist and musician. When that beginning has been made, when no large city is without its public opera house and concert hall and without its school of music and endowed orchestra, where native musicians can be heard and judged, then those who hitherto have had no opportunity to reveal their talent will come forth and compete with one another till a real genius emerges from their number, who will be as thoroughly representative of his country as Wagner and Weber are of Germany, or Chopin of Poland. To bring about this result we must trust to the ever youthful enthusiasm and patriotism of this country. When this is accomplished, and when music has been established as one of the reigning arts of the land, another wreath of fame and glory will be added to this country which earned its name, the "Land of Freedom," by unshackling her slaves at the price of her own blood.

NOTE.-- The author acknowledges the co-operation of Mr. Edwin Emerson, Jr., in the preparation of this article.

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